


221B Ficlets

by verucasalt123



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Possibly Pre-Slash, Schmoop, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/pseuds/verucasalt123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five 221B ficlets, the first stories I wrote in this fandom. Each chapter is either slash or pre-slash John/Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get It

“You really don’t get it? You don’t _understand_? Honestly?”

Sherlock was not accustomed to ‘not getting’ many things. He was, after all, a fucking genius. John knew that, he knew Sherlock was a genius, why did he bother being all cryptic and mysterious and taunting about this specific day?

But yeah, he supposed, yeah, there were some facets of human interaction that he honestly just didn’t ‘get”, didn’t understand, maybe because he just hadn’t made the attempt yet. He knew what he had with John was worth making an honest effort, though, and he wanted to do it, he just needed…he needed guidance. And he wasn’t used to needing that. But there were many things, before his romantic or sexual or whatever kind of relationship he’d fallen into with the good doctor (the good, sweet, amazing, never boring doctor) over the past year that he’d never really experienced in the past and truly did need an explanation for. He could have asked Greg, he supposed, or Mrs. Hudson, if he’d known to ask. He could even have asked Molly, if he had realized it. But he didn’t.

He did know, and now he’d hurt John. He’d been insensitive, and he wanted so very badly to undo whatever damage he’d caused.

“Forgive me, John. Please? I’ve never had an anniversary before.”


	2. Sliver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is sex.

A sliver of moonlight piercing through the drapes was the only guidance they had, not that they needed it. Even in pitch black, the two of them knew by now every inch of each other’s bodies, mapped out carefully over time, then meticulously catalogued in their minds.

John’s teeth sunk into the skin on the left side of Sherlock’s neck, causing Sherlock to tip his head back almost involuntarily, making more of his skin available for the shock of pain that he craved so badly. His hands were quite happy to be bound to the headboard by the silk belt of his dressing gown.

“Say it”, rumbled into his ear, John’s rank-pulling gravel tone, as he felt John’s hand tighten around the fistful of hair in his grip. 

Sherlock never considered the possibility of speechlessness before _this_ had started, before he’d tumbled into bed with John half-drunk one night months earlier, just…before. It was how he stored memories now, Before and Now. 

After a moment without a reply, the grip on his hair became even more insistent, followed by a sharp backhand to the side of his face. “Say it.” Harder this time, the pitch of John’s voice even lower and more commanding.

“Yours”, Sherlock replied in a shaky voice. “I’m yours, John.” And it was true, to John he belonged.


	3. Salute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interesting moment at Baskerville.

The salute was one thing. One tiny thing that Sherlock never thought would be so incredibly sexy. He wasn’t surprised when John had caught on quickly to Sherlock’s act of being a man in power, someone who commanded respect even in a place like this. But watching a man in uniform automatically raise his hand in respect just at the mention of John’s military rank…fascinating. 

 

He didn’t know that his demand that the young man address him as “sir” had gotten John just as turned on, a feeling neither of them expected, with their histories of bucking authority as they were. Nevertheless, as soon as John had heard Sherlock correcting the young corporal, he was immediately half-hard in his pants. 

 

And then there it was. The final piece that forced Sherlock to put extra effort into his poker face, something he’d never seen before and never imagined would create this feeling of almost uncontrollable lust ( _almost_ , obviously, as Sherlock did not recognize the possibility of losing control of himself when he wasn’t using drugs. Which he wasn’t. Right at that moment.). 

 

“That’s an order, Corporal.” The words came from John’s mouth as naturally as “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Hudson”. The words were enough, but watching the young man follow along without question was brilliant.


	4. Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another lazy morning at Baker Street.

There were not very many things John could remember making him feel quite this comfortable and satisfied at any other time during his entire life. 

Still dressed in sleep pants and an old cotton t-shirt, he padded around the kitchen barefoot to start the kettle and make their morning tea and toast. It had become a ritual, a daily occurrence. Sherlock doing whatever it was that he happened to be doing at the time while John went about the motions of preparing their breakfast. 

On this particular morning, John had a genuine appreciation of the soreness that he felt in his muscles. No longer just from his military training and his years in combat, now it was as much a result of exceptionally enthusiastic sex with his…his flatmate? His lover? His Sherlock. Yes, that was it. 

Taking the tray with tea and toast into the living room, he stood for just a moment and watched as Sherlock played a magnificent rendition of the instrumental piece of “Tradition” from Fiddler on the Roof, staring out of their window. It was simultaneously haunting and beautiful, turning from one part to the next from melancholy to exciting.

As the last notes were finished, John cleared his throat and said, “I’ve got breakfast.”

Sherlock smiled and set down his bow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the music: http://youtu.be/CD_hAujgt0A


	5. Heartless (or not)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A revelation at the pool.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/verucasalt123/pic/00020xw8/)

 

Sherlock was still in the process of blocking out the strong chlorine smell of the pool so he could focus on what was important here when he heard, and then saw, a door open from the side.

John had the look perfected. As far as Sherlock had ever known, he had not seen an ‘I’m resigned to my fate’ expression as perfect as John’s. Opening his coat, John kept speaking as he showed off the most fashionable decked-out-in-explosives vest in the world, right there against his chest and torso. He concentrated on the look again. “Bet you never saw this coming. What would you like me to make him say next?”

The pulses of red light were clear, and Sherlock was certain there were a few aimed in his own direction as well. 

“I will burn you. I will burn the heart out of you.” His voice, so off-kilter, so filled with anger, the man was surely certifiable. Or, as Lestrade would have said _batshit crazy_. 

Once John grabbed Moriarty and urged him to **run** , an epiphany formed in Sherlock’s mind, and elsewhere. 

He’d assured Moriarty that he had it on good authority that he was, indeed, heartless. Realizing in such a profound way that he and so many others had been wrong about that only took a second. It burned.


End file.
